


Save My Soul

by norgbelulah



Category: Justified
Genre: F/M, Present Tense, Rough Sex, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-29
Updated: 2011-03-29
Packaged: 2017-10-17 08:47:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/175053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/norgbelulah/pseuds/norgbelulah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Winona Hawkins isn’t the kind of woman a man says no to often.  Carol Johnson isn’t the kind of woman anyone says no to, ever.  Raylan and Boyd are probably in over their heads, but then again, they might not be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Save My Soul

**Author's Note:**

> Coda to episode 2.07 "Save My Love." Set immediately after.
> 
> Oneshot. ~ 2,000 words. Rated M or NC-17 or what-have-you for angsty, angsty sex and language.
> 
> Many thanks to [personal profile] staraflur for a quick and excellent beta.
> 
> Short disclaimer: all characters and scenarios belong to Elmore Leonard and Graham Yost and NOT ME.

Winona beat Raylan back to his place after work, he can tell by her car parked in the usual place all the way across the parking lot from his room.  Raylan grimaces, suppressing a sigh. 

He knows the door will be unlocked, so he just walks in and is greeted by one hundred and fifteen pounds of woman thrown at him.  He catches her and lifts her up reflexively as she twines herself around him, pushing him back and slamming the door behind him in the process.

"Jesus, Winona," he groans, dropping his hat and his keys at his feet.  She laughs as she presses her lips to his, pulling herself closer to him and wrapping her arms around his neck.

“We did it,” she whispers breathlessly, lips moving across his temple.  He can feel her smiling like she just won the jackpot and she wraps her legs more tightly around his hips.

He pulls back and gives her a hard questioning look, "I think you're a little bit mistaken, sweetheart.  _We_ didn't do anything.  I am the one who got you out of this mess.  So, let's not celebrate too hard, ‘cause I don't really feel all that good about it."

Winona is apparently not to be deterred.  She leans in, kissing him the way she did when they first started up again after the divorce, like they’re doing something wrong and right at the same time.  "I know, I know, Raylan," she says into his ear, sweet and soft.  "Thank you, baby, thank you.  You saved me."

*

Boyd cannot help but let out an unsteady breath at Ms. Carol Johnson’s pragmatically voiced intentions towards Mags Bennett and her family.  He doesn’t quite know if his reaction is anxiety or anticipation, but he sees his new boss take note of the sound.

He tugs at the lapel of his jacket.

“I’m sorry,” she says, smiling ruefully.  “That suit is horrendous.  I promise to find you a decent tailor somewhere in this town.”  She sets down her paper and looks at him thoughtfully, before her smile turns predatory.  “Did anyone ever tell you, your hair is ridiculous?”

“Yes,” Boyd answers plainly, eyeing her no less curiously than before.

Ms. Johnson’s hands slide over the limo’s leather seats as she shifts her body to face him, bracing her back against the door.  “I want to touch it,” she demands and slips off one of her heels, the left one, sliding that foot onto the seat, effectively spreading her legs for him.  

“Will you let me do that, Boyd?”  She asks in a low voice, as if he could possibly say no.

*

There’s something intoxicating about hearing a woman thank you for saving her and Raylan is a man who has been stupid enough and lucky enough to hear that sentiment plenty.  It’s cliché as hell and borderline archaic, but every single time the blood rushes to his head and he feels an intense wave of personal satisfaction, which is often followed by a desire for a different kind of satisfaction.

It’s a load of bullshit, Raylan knows.  But he can’t help it.  He’s always held more romantic sensibilities than he likes to admit.  So he kisses Winona and lets her breathe her gratitude into his lips and his lungs while they begin to undress each other, making their way across the room, even as she’s still got her legs wrapped around him.

Winona is riding high on a wave of pent up adrenaline.  Raylan understands that.  There’s not much that feels as good as fucking to celebrate being alive.  And if it was only the relief of surviving the bomb scare, he wouldn’t think anymore about it.  But, as he lets her drop onto the bed, he watches her wriggle out of that skinny little skirt and ruminates for a good long moment.  Raylan realizes he just can’t let that shit about the money slide. 

*

Boyd has realized, had done so as soon as Ms. Johnson said she knew all about his “unique background,” that she assumes Boyd is comfortable with a certain moral ambiguity.  Boyd also realizes he cannot let her know that this may not be the case, at least not until he has learned what her plans are for Harlan.  Then and only then will he decide what to do. 

He smiles and leans towards her.  “Yes, ma’am.”

Her eyes are hungry as her fingers tease their way through his hair.  Boyd removes his ill-fitting jacket, letting it fall behind him, and is busy loosening his tie when she kisses him with a ferocity he finds surprising.

Her hands skim down his neck and pull the tie from his grasp, beginning work on the buttons at the neck of his shirt collar.  She has a single-minded air about her that Boyd senses is present in most of the other activities in which she engages herself.

Boyd leans against the armrest on the door, one hand on either side of her fairly ample figure.  He pulls away for just a moment and she flicks her gaze up to his eyes.

“You don’t think your boyfriend is going to be upset with me, do you?” she says with a wicked smile.

Boyd forces himself into the mindset of someone else— someone who wants a gun with his paycheck, someone who will fuck a woman he just met in the back of a moving vehicle, and someone who would find her joke just as amusing as she does.

It isn’t difficult.  He’s been this man before.

*

Winona smiles slowly and begins to rise up again to kiss him, but Raylan lays a hand on her shoulder, keeping her still.  “You think we’re in the clear, don’t you?” he asks.  “You think we came out of this with hands clean and not a mark on us?”

She looks at him like he had better be joking.  “Didn’t we?”

Raylan twists his mouth and feels the aggravation he’d felt for the past three days rise up again in him.  He stamps it back down and lets it fill his words instead of anything else.  “Well, what do you think Art was doing down in the cage today?  I’m pretty sure he’s got a hunch if he doesn’t outright know what we were up to.  That man’s got the eyes of a hawk and instincts just as sharp.”

“Do you think he’ll turn us in?”  Her eyes widen and she stiffens in his grasp.

He’s surprised by the coolness of her reaction, the calculation.  She’s known Art for nearly as long as he has.  “No, Christ, Winona, no,” he says, letting go of her shoulder. 

She smiles again and kisses him, “Then why worry about it?”

Raylan pulls away from her, sure the distaste he’s feeling is plain on his face.  “Because I respect what the man thinks of me.  You don’t seem to understand what I’ve risked here.  For you.  Sure, we’re probably safe now, but we might not have been—“

“But we _are._ ”  She cuts him off and hooks a foot behind his knee, causing Raylan to fall forward towards her. 

His face is pitched into her naked tits.  She wraps her arms around his neck and holds him there gently, her breath drifting past his ear, as she says “We are safe now, Raylan.  And I think I’ve _said_ thank you.  So come on now, darling, let me show you.”

Raylan closes his eyes, pulls himself up to meet her lips, and lets her have her way, like he has so often lately.  He's just been so pleased to have this woman back in his life and in his bed that he's been caving to her demands like he never used to before.  Winona seems to think that this is a sign of his changing, _their_ changing enough that they can make it work this time.

But Raylan’s not so sure.

Now that her needs have begun to fall squarely on the side of the extreme, Raylan has realized that Winona hasn't really changed all that much.  She's still the kind of woman who expects to receive everything she desires in a relationship, even when she doesn't quite know what she wants or why she wants it.  And the only way that he's changed is to be desperate enough to have her that he'll do almost anything.

Raylan doesn't like the kind of man this makes him.

But for now, he lets her have her way.  He lets her roll him over on the bed, climb on top and ride his cock whatever way she feels like.  He goes through their usual motions, nipping at her tits and rubbing her clit real slow.  Except, when she’s riding him harder and well on her way to orgasm, he reaches up and snakes an arm around her waist, pulling their bodies flush against each other. 

He runs his other hand through her loose, wild hair, and turns her ear to his lips.  “You can have this, Winona,” Raylan says in a low voice.  “I’m going to let you have this little victory.  But I want you to know that under no circumstances will I be leaving or losing my job for you.  And if you ever try to pull any bullshit like this again, we will be so far beyond through that I swear to Christ I will testify in court about what I did for you today.  And that’s a goddamn promise.”

Winona’s eyes flash as he releases her.  Raylan lays back down flat on the bed and lets her pretend she didn’t hear him.

*

“I don’t want to talk about Raylan,” Boyd says with a smirk and hooks a thumb under the hem of her skirt.

Ms. Johnson’s expression darkens.  “I have another meeting today, so if you rip any part of this two thousand dollar suit or leave a visible mark on me, Boyd, I swear to Jesus Christ that I will have my driver put a bullet in your kneecap.  I know you know he’s packin.”

Boyd slips the rest of his fingers between the tight fabric and her thigh in response.  “Well,” he says slowly, moving his palm in a soothingly circular motion across her smooth skin, “despite you taking most of the fun out of this venture.”  He slides his other hand deftly between her legs.  “I promise your clothes, face, neck, and… wrists,” he punctuates the list with a hint of menace, “will remain unharmed.  I cannot guarantee any other part of your body.”

She is about to speak, but he presses his thumb hard into her clitoris and slides two fingers into her pussy.  She gasps and bucks in his grip, cursing and hitting her head against the car window.  Her eyes are somewhat dazed before his mouth descends on hers and keeps her lips and tongue occupied as his fingers work her wet, throbbing nether-regions until she moans loudly.

Boyd lets up and smiles in satisfaction.  He pulls her skirt carefully up around her stomach and stretches her tastefully nude-colored panties aside, so he can eat her out. 

She doesn’t taste like any whore Boyd’s had before, but she sounds like a bitch in heat.  Her fingers twist his hair painfully, prompting him to nip at her in revenge.  Apparently, this only excites her more and she’s quivering under his attentions, so Boyd pulls back and begins to loosen his belt.

“Let me do that,” she says huskily, but he pushes her back against the door, hard, and doesn’t say anything.  There’s only surprise in her face as he gets his trousers and underwear around his knees.  After that, he moves too fast to permit her to think long enough to become angry.

He knows this was her play at first.  It was her way to connect them.  She had probably planned to suck his cock until he begged to put it in her.  She wants to make him crave more from her than a pile of money and the chance to cause mayhem.  She believes he’s going to sell out this town and have _her_ back over his people, because she deigned to fuck him in the back seat of a Cadillac Limousine.

She has, like so many others, underestimated him. 

He thinks, as he’s driving into her, listening to her shout his name, that he might let Ms. Carol Johnson, Executive Vice President of Blackpike Coal, put her lying mouth on him before this ride is over, but then again, he might not.


End file.
